


Deception's Cost

by Moro



Series: Contact Binary [3]
Category: Revelation Space Series - Alastair Reynolds
Genre: Begging, Bloodplay, Bondage, Choking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Face Slapping, Fingerfucking, High Tech Sex Toys, Interrogation, Knifeplay, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Sadism, Smoking Kink, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Sex, cutting off clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moro/pseuds/Moro
Summary: After the incident with the rogue cache-weapon, Volyova interrogates Khouri to learn the truth about the woman she captured to be her Gunnery Officer.Khouri begins to realize just how badly she’s in over her head.-Approaching Delta Pavonis, 2565-
Relationships: Ana Khouri/Ilia Volyova
Series: Contact Binary [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1935520
Kudos: 64





	Deception's Cost

**Author's Note:**

> An alternate version of the questioning scene. This fic is, as far as I'm concerned, how it really happened.

Since her “recruitment,” Khouri had done, at least in her own assessment, a good job of keeping her incriminating secrets under wraps. Due primarily to Khouri’s increased… _intimacy_ with Volyova, the Mademoiselle’s confidence in Khouri had steadily deteriorated by the time she went into reefersleep, but as far as Khouri was concerned, this loss of faith was unwarranted.

But after the crisis with the cache-weapon, Khouri knew for certain that Volyova had finally realized she was not quite all she seemed. Khouri had revealed too much while she’d been preoccupied fighting the Mademoiselle and Sun Stealer, and there was no denying she had aroused Volyova’s suspicion. 

_But then, she probably suspected me at least somewhat from early on, I just assumed everything was fine… I was sloppy, wasn’t I?_ There had been, in retrospect, other slip-ups before then, minor though they had seemed at the time. Because Volyova had not acted differently towards her after these mistakes, Khouri had made the ultimately worse error of concluding she had evaded suspicion entirely. It was now clear, Khouri realized, that the Ultra woman had merely been filing each piece of information away for later consideration.

In the days immediately following the incident in the gunnery, Volyova had been fully occupied with feverish work covering up everything that had transpired. Khouri had not been asked—or ordered—to assist in these tasks, but neither had she been assigned anything _else_ to do. So Khouri spent most of her time in her quarters, because there seemed little point in doing anything else. She never had been good at dealing with a lack of direction. 

Khouri _had_ seen Volyova on a few brief occasions. The Triumvir had looked far more tired than usual, the shadows beneath her eyes deeper and darker, and her dark hair, grown out after the years Khouri had passed in reefersleep enough to brush against the sharp line of her jaw, was disheveled and unkempt. It was evident she was not sleeping much. She spoke to Khouri little when she saw her, sometimes not even acknowledging her presence. The Triumvir’s mind was elsewhere, and Khouri knew better than to disturb her when she was so clearly preoccupied.

Khouri had heard nothing from the Mademoiselle since the incident, either. Months of subjective time ago, Khouri would have regarded this silence with no small measure of relief, but it was unsettling now, and without the simulation around to argue with, Khouri was even more alone with her thoughts than before, which under the circumstances did her mental state no favors. She slept too much, yet fitfully, getting little real rest. Her dreams were a half-remembered blur, the sound of Volyova’s voice so often lingering in her mind after she awoke. And something else besides anxiety about the forthcoming questioning insistently nagged at her. This was the matter of her saving Volyova’s life, and how she had felt about it at the time and now after enough time had passed for the initial adrenaline to no longer be an influence. 

Certainly there _were_ practical reasons. If the rest of the crew—especially the rest of the _Triumvirate_ —awoke from reefersleep to discover a cache-weapon destroyed and their weapons expert dead, Khouri would be under immediate scrutiny anyway. Triumvir Sajaki would, at the most charitable, view it as having been the result of staggering incompetence; more likely he would see it as outright treachery. In either case, it was entirely possible Sajaki would simply kill her. Khouri was palpably aware of her status as an outsider; without Volyova’s protection, she was vulnerable, however much she would have liked to believe otherwise. 

Khouri gave a frustrated sigh as she paced back and forth in her quarters. She was rationalizing, she knew. _Who am I kidding? I didn’t save her because I was afraid of Sajaki, or because I thought something bad would happen to me without her, or any of that other shit… I just didn’t want her to die. Thinking about her dying…_ _ **hurt**_ _too much. I couldn’t take it… god, what the hell is wrong with me?_

With only the stew of painful, confusing emotions to occupy herself, as the days passed, Khouri felt herself becoming increasingly agitated and restless. All she could do was hurry up and wait for something to happen, and she’d had more than enough of that in her soldiering days to be well and truly sick of it.

~ * ~ * ~

When Volyova finally appeared in Khouri’s room late one evening, Khouri felt oddly relieved.

Khouri stood as Volyova entered. “Ilia! It’s good to—”

“Come with me,” Volyova cut her off.

“Where are we going?” Khouri dared to ask, as the two of them headed down the hallway to one of the seemingly innumerable side elevators that were distributed around the ship’s longitudinal axis.

“Down ship.”

“All right.”

Khouri followed the Triumvir in silence after that, afraid to speak further in case it upset her. Volyova didn’t appear _angry_ , exactly, but there was a clear tension in her that Khouri recognized all too well.

After a seemingly endless series of journeys through elevators and dimly-lit corridors, Khouri began to have a vague sense of their location. They were down in one of the rat-infested zones; it was, Volyova reckoned, as safe from Sajaki’s listening devices as any area of the ship save the Spider-Room itself.

Volyova stopped at last and turned to face Khouri, her ashen eyes piercing in the murky darkness.

“It’s time for some answers, Khouri,” Volyova said.

“Answers about what, Triumvir?”

“Forget the charade of innocence,” Volyova said. “I’m far too tired for it, and I assure you I will get to the truth one way or the other. During the crisis with the cache-weapon, you gave too much away. If you were hoping I would forget some of the things you said, you were mistaken.”

“Like what?”

The Triumvir shoved Khouri against the wall, hard enough to knock some wind out of the woman; letting her know Volyova’s wiry strength should not be underestimated, nor her patience stretched too far. “Let me make something _clear_ to you, Khouri. I killed Nagorny, your predecessor, because he failed me. I successfully concealed the truth of his death from the rest of the crew. Be under no illusions that I will do the same to you, if you give me sufficient justification.”

Khouri pushed herself back from the wall, regaining some color. “Hey. I just _saved_ you back there, Ilia… I think I deserve the benefit of the doubt, don’t you think?” She paused, chewing her lower lip. “What is it you want to know, exactly? You don’t need to threaten me.” 

Volyova’s eyes narrowed, marginally, but then she seemed to consider something and her expression relaxed. “You can start by telling me who you are. Begin with the assumption that I know you are an infiltrator.”

“How can I be an infiltrator? You _recruited_ me.”

Volyova glared at her, as though irritated that Khouri would think she hadn’t considered something so painfully obvious.

“Yes,” Volyova said, for she had already thought this through. “That was the way it was made to seem, of course… but it was deception, wasn’t it? Whatever agency is behind you managed to manipulate my search procedure, making it seem as if I had selected you… whereas the choice was ultimately not mine at all.” Volyova had to admit to herself that she had no direct evidence to support this, but it was the simplest hypothesis which fitted all the facts. “So, are you going to deny this?”

“Why would you think that I was an infiltrator?”

Volyova paused to light up a cigarette. “Because you seem to know too much about the gunnery. You seem to know something about Sun Stealer… and that troubles me deeply.”

Khouri had been prepared for this eventuality by the Mademoiselle, given an additional cover story with which to provide Volyova if she guessed that Khouri’s initial placement had not been the incidental occurrence it first appeared. Nevertheless, Khouri felt her heart beginning to speed up, knowing she could not afford carelessness here. It seemed unlikely that their continued closeness, whatever it was, would be sufficient to protect her from Volyova’s anger if she screwed up. Something twisted inside her at this thought, but she pushed it down. _I can negotiate this… I can. I know what I’m doing._

“You mentioned Sun Stealer shortly after you brought me aboard, don’t you remember?”

“Yes, but your knowledge goes deeper than can be explained by the information you could have gleaned from me. In fact there are times when you seem to know somewhat more about the whole situation than _I_ do.” Volyova paused. “There’s more to it than that, of course. The neural activity in your brain, during reefersleep… I should have examined the implants you came aboard with more carefully. They obviously aren’t all that they seem. Do you want to have a stab at _explaining_ any of this?”

“All right…” Khouri’s tone of voice was different now. It was clear that she had given up any hope of bluffing her way out of this one. “But listen carefully, Ilia. I know you’ve got your little secrets, too—things you really don’t want Sajaki and the others to find out about. I’d already guessed about Nagorny, but there’s also the business with the cache-weapon. I _know_ you don’t want that to become common knowledge, or you wouldn’t be going to such lengths to cover up the whole thing.”

Volyova’s eyes narrowed, her voice lowering so that she was barely audible as she leaned closer to Khouri. “Is that a _threat_ , Khouri?” 

Khouri’s heart leapt into her throat. “No, no wait, I—!”

Volyova grabbed her hard by the shoulder. Khouri flinched and automatically tried to pull away, a soft sound of fear escaping her. Volyova pulled her along the wall forcefully, groping in the dark for something on its uneven surface. She found a control panel on the wall and pressed something, and behind Khouri, a door slid open with an unpleasant metallic scrape. It sounded like it had not been opened in a long time. Volyova shoved her inside, and Khouri stumbled backwards into a space even darker than the corridor from which they had come.

For a split second she could pick out no details, unable to even assess the room’s dimensions, dark as interstellar space. The only bit of light was the orange pinprick of Volyova’s cigarette. There was an ambient hum which was distinct from the normal sounds of the ship, a smell of ozone barely discernible through the usual ship-smell. Volyova’s bracelet illuminated and she whispered a command into it, too softly for Khouri to understand.

“Ilia?” Khouri breathed.

 _Something_ lashed towards Khouri in an eyeblink, seizing her arm in a constricting grip. Khouri yelped with alarm, reaching for whatever had wrapped around her arm and trying to pry it off—it was smooth to the touch, like some sort of high-gloss polymer, but too yielding, revoltingly organic. More of them surged towards her like striking snakes, wrapping her other arm, her legs, dragging her sideways with them and hoisting her off her feet. She struggled furiously with a frantic shout—suddenly her back impacted a wall, hard enough to knock the wind out of her a second time. She coughed weakly, momentarily unable to draw enough breath to speak, as her limbs were pulled fast against the wall, her hands fixed on either side of her head, her legs just slightly further apart than her shoulders’ width. One further settled into place around her neck, encircling it tightly enough that it was flush with the skin, like a collar.

“I will not be threatened,” Volyova said as she stepped into the room, the door sliding shut behind her with another harsh scrape. A splash of ship-slime sluiced out of the doorway as it closed. “You know, you really ought to know better.” 

Dim red-tinted lights flicked on overhead. Volyova took a long drag from her cigarette and exhaled slowly. The smoke swirled around her face and as it dispersed, seemed to outline shapes in the sparsely furnished room. Apart from the restraints holding Khouri against the wall, there was some kind of storage cabinet, and a vaguely rectangular elevated surface opposite. It could have been a table, or only an elevated platform; it was impossible to tell much in the low light. The entire space was perhaps no more than four or five meters across on any side. It had an oppressive feel, like a prison cell.

_Oh god, oh shit—_

Reflexively, Khouri pulled hard against her restraints, constricting them further around her limbs, the collar’s tightness becoming choking until she ceased her attempt to free herself.

Volyova licked her lips slowly, savoring the look of Khouri in such a compromising position. The angle at which her arms were pulled back forced her back to arch slightly, nicely emphasizing her muscles and the subtle curve of her breasts. Khouri’s chest rose and fell rapidly with shallow, frightened breaths.

“You don’t… you don’t have to do this,” Khouri said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “Listen, Ilia, let’s just… let’s just talk about this, all right?” Even as she tried to negotiate, there was a plummeting sensation in the pit of her stomach with the realization that if Volyova had brought her to this particular part of the ship, to a room in which she had installed some kind of distressingly elaborate restraint device, then perhaps the Triumvir had intended this from the start. It was hardly difficult to guess what she might have in mind, but that foreknowledge was not comforting.

Volyova turned and retrieved something from the cabinet. Khouri couldn’t immediately get a good look at it. 

“I just said I could kill you, Khouri,” Volyova said. “You’re not exactly in a strong bargaining position.”

Khouri trembled, realizing then Volyova was holding a small, thin knife, its blade no longer than the span of the Triumvir’s hand, and scarcely wider than one of her long, thin fingers. The metal was black, shiny like obsidian, reflecting the red light of the room in a manner that made it appear as though it were already covered with blood. Khouri felt her heart hammering rapidly in her throat, beating against the constriction of the collar.

On Sky’s Edge, Khouri had been given standard training to endure interrogation and torture through the use of experientials, the detailed simulations of real scenarios intended to build her mental fortitude against the real thing without causing damage that would have to be repaired. Medical technology available to her faction was not state of the art, and injuries that Ultras would find trivial to repair could be fatal on the Edge. In the subsequent years of military campaigns she had suffered her share of real injuries, and she liked to think the experiences had hardened her, toughened her. They had certainly increased her ability to function and think through pain. But she had never actually been _tortured_ in reality, and she couldn’t help but wonder, now, how much use those experientials were likely to be.

Or perhaps it was only that where Volyova was concerned, nothing ever seemed to make sense.

Khouri took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “Yes, you could kill me—or at least have a go—but despite what you said, I doubt you’d manage to cover up my death as easily as you did Nagorny’s. Losing one Gunnery Officer is bad luck. Two begins to look like carelessness, doesn’t it?” 

It was difficult to keep her composure well enough to speak so calmly, but this was her last best attempt to maneuver herself into a favorable position. Making excuses had failed, so perhaps appealing to Volyova’s own paranoia would have a greater chance of success. _I’ve got to try. If she goes through with this I don’t know if I can keep it together… I might spill everything!_ _And if Ilia is angry now… Shit, if she realizes even the things I’m about to tell her are also lies… she really might kill me after all!_

Khouri sensed a flicker of worry in the Triumvir at her words, the slimmest impression that her bargaining piece might carry some value. A momentary hope pushed through her trepidation, a thought that perhaps she had gained an edge after all.

Volyova finished her cigarette, never taking her eyes off Khouri. Her gaze was icy, the grey irises like the dusty hearts of comets.

“Have I not made myself clear, Khouri?” Volyova asked, stepping closer, grasping Khouri’s face. She forced Khouri’s mouth open with her long fingers, and before Khouri realized what she was doing, she put out the smoldering cigarette on her tongue.

Khouri cried out in shock and pain, the small circular burn on her tongue sending a screaming litany of rapid-fire pain signals to her brain, the damage alerts of the body’s nervous system. She shuddered violently, a strangled sound escaping her throat and involuntary tears springing to her eyes. The pain was terrible, but she could deal with this. She just needed to keep the pain from invading her mind, lock away the sensations in a far corner, force her focus elsewhere…

“Perhaps you still haven’t grasped the state of things, so allow me to _clarify_ for you,” Volyova whispered softly as she stepped closer still, her body now pressing against Khouri’s. “You are my _property_ , Khouri, my possession. Mine to use, or destroy, or reward, as I see fit.”

Before Khouri could speak, Volyova grabbed her by the hair and pressed her lips against hers, her tongue forcefully invading her mouth. Khouri nearly screamed into the other woman’s mouth, as Volyova’s tongue played across the fresh wound, enjoying the ashen, coppery taste of her handiwork. The kiss sent waves of pleasure and pain shivering through Khouri’s body, destroying her preliminary attempts to dissociate, bringing every sensation front and center. She struggled against the restraints, tried to pull back, to turn her head, _anything_ , but Volyova’s grip on her hair kept her firmly where she wanted her. She felt Volyova moan softly into her mouth before she pulled away, and shivered at the warmth it stirred within her. 

Volyova licked her lips as she pulled back, savoring the residual taste. Khouri coughed, shivering with shock and pain, her mouth hanging open as much in shock as to keep anything else from touching her tongue. She was too stunned to even notice that doing so caused her to drool.

Volyova clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Did you really think you could _lie to me_ and expect to suffer absolutely no punishment?” Volyova asked. “There are consequences, Khouri. You should really know that by now.”

“Ilia, wait, _please_ —” Khouri began— 

Volyova backhanded her sharply across the face and Khouri yelped like a struck animal.

“Right now, you will call me _Triumvir_ ,” Volyova said harshly. “Now, I asked you a question. Did you think you could lie to me, keep _secrets_ from me, and expect me not to punish you for it?” 

Khouri swallowed hard, unable to make herself meet the woman’s gaze. “No, Triumvir,” she whispered.

“That’s better,” Volyova said. “You cannot escape punishment for disobeying me so severely. However, if you _cooperate_ , I may be persuaded to go easier on you.” She brought the knife up close then, its thin blade gleaming wickedly, holding it a hair’s breadth from Khouri’s neck above the collar. Khouri shivered. 

“I’ll tell you the truth, all right?” Khouri said shakily. “Please… you wouldn't _really_ kill me, would you?”

“I’ll ask the questions here, not you,” Volyova snapped. “And you should consider yourself damned lucky I’m being so lenient. So let’s start with the most obvious question. Who _are_ you?”

Khouri took another deep breath, trying to ignore the stinging and taste of ashes in her mouth. _This is her idea of being lenient?!_ “Much of what you know already is the truth. I’m Ana Khouri, and I was a soldier on Sky’s Edge, although about twenty years earlier than you thought,” she began. Her voice faltered. It took considerable effort to keep her voice from shaking. The burn on her tongue insistently prickled with pain, more so any time she spoke, but there was little choice. “Please, you have to believe me, not everything I told you was a lie—!” 

The last word gave way to a sharp intake of breath as Volyova reached up with her hand and began to undo the straps of Khouri’s jacket. She did so without hurry, relishing the feeling of Khouri’s rapid breathing, the racing of her heart palpable on her neck. She could almost see Khouri’s pulse in the delicate skin of her throat, up against the collar.

“Keep talking,” Volyova said softly, reaching the last set of fastenings and tugging Khouri’s jacket open. “Who are you working for?” Her long fingers caressed Khouri’s body through the shirt underneath. Khouri fought to keep from hyperventilating, hating the warmth coming to her face that had nothing to do with where Volyova had hit her. 

“I was in the pay of another crew,” Khouri replied quickly. “They’ve been trying to get their hands on your cache-weapons for some time—”

Khouri’s voice hitched again—Volyova had hooked the fabric of Khouri’s shirt with the tip of the knife, pulling it toward her. The blade sliced through the thin material effortlessly, drawing a shaky little breath from Khouri as the tip scratched lightly against her collarbone. Volyova tugged the knife slowly down and the shirt began to tear, the thin blade cutting ever so slightly into Khouri’s sternum on the way down. 

Khouri winced as the knife bit into her. A tiny trickle of blood ran down her chest, hot against her skin. The cut was extremely shallow, barely more than a scratch, but she could sense this was merely a warning of worse to follow. 

“Not possible,” Volyova said. “No one else knows about them.”

“But you’ve used some of the cache before, right?” Khouri said. She knew from what Volyova had told her that she had tested some of the cache-weapons before, and there was no doubt in her mind that they had been used against actual targets as well, even if Volyova herself never decisively confirmed this. “There must have been witnesses, or survivors you never knew about… Eventually, word got around that your ship was carrying some s-serious shit. Maybe no one knew the whole picture, but they knew enough to want their own slice of the cache…”

Volyova leaned down, licking up the trickle of blood slowly dribbling down Khouri’s torso—Khouri shivered at the touch of her tongue, a tiny, fearful sound escaping her—as she considered her words. There was nothing in her expression that told Khouri whether her explanation had been accepted, but at least the woman seemed to be thinking it over.

Volyova licked the blood off her lips and moved back up to look Khouri in the eyes again, obviously savoring her helplessness and fear. She held the blade of the knife motionless just below Khouri’s ribs. “So, who _was_ this mysterious crew?” 

“I didn’t know their names,” Khouri said. “There was never any direct contact.” 

Volyova looked thoughtful, and for a moment, Khouri dared to hope her answer had been sufficient.

“Hmm… Wrong answer,” Volyova said. “You’ll have to do better than that.” 

She dug the knife in pointedly just below Khouri’s ribs as she finished cutting the shirt off. Khouri hissed through her teeth, then winced further as that caused her teeth to put pressure on the fresh burn on her tongue. She whimpered as Volyova kept dragging the knife down, tearing through the shirt and cutting a neat line down her belly. More hot blood oozed from the cut, staining the shirt, even as Volyova moved to lick her way up the new wound, slowly, as though her tongue could drink up Khouri’s pain like a physical thing. When she resumed speaking her lips brushed against Khouri’s skin. “You must have learned _something_ about them. I’ll ask again. Who were they, Khouri?”

Khouri’s mind raced. Her skin tingled where Volyova had licked her, the sensation confusingly mixing with the stinging ache of the fresh cut. Volyova licked slowly upward again, her tongue tracing the outline of Khouri’s breast, and Khouri shivered, using every bit of focus she could muster to try and think over what to say.

The root of the problem was, it seemed exceedingly unlikely that there would be any Ultra ships with which Volyova was not at least passingly familiar. Particularly after the Conjoiners had stopped manufacturing new lighthuggers, the massive starships had become an even more precious resource, held by fewer and fewer groups. While it would be misleading to call Ultras close-knit, Ultra ships engaging in trade would inevitably come into contact with one another whether they wanted to or not. There was also the simple fact that few other factions matched an Ultra’s lifespan, and so it could be safely assumed that most Ultras knew of each other and their ships, if only on the surface level.

“I’m waiting, Khouri,” Volyova murmured, before closing her lips around one of Khouri’s nipples. Khouri jumped and let out a soft cry that was not quite a moan as Volyova’s tongue flicked against it, idly, her mouth sticky with Khouri’s blood. The Triumvir was so very close now, pressing her body tightly against Khouri’s. Khouri could smell the acrid, anise-like scent of her cigarettes, the sweat in her dark hair. It was even harder to think, as it always seemed with her. _Fuck! What can I do? What can I tell her?!_

“Nh—I—I didn’t… ah…!” Khouri shivered as she felt Volyova’s teeth beginning to close threateningly on her nipple. She knew _no_ other Ultra vessels by name, and certainly nothing of their crews. There was no possible way Khouri could give Volyova the names she was asking for without the _true_ deception becoming immediately apparent. Khouri had little doubt Volyova would see through any false names she might conjure up. It would be hazardous to fabricate anything, even a small detail.

 _Fuck… fuck, I thought she would accept that much without asking for specific names!_ Desperately, she reached out for the Mademoiselle, imploring her, < _Can’t you help me?! Just give me_ _ **something**_ _, you bitch!_ > Khouri’s frantic demands echoed back emptily, unanswered. 

“I don’t _kno—ahh!_ ” Pain shot through Khouri as Volyova lost patience and bit down _hard_ on her nipple. She worked it between her teeth, intensifying the pain with every movement. Khouri could feel the Ultra woman’s body pressed so tightly against her own, the fabric of her uniform grinding against her leg, feel how she was drawing pleasure from every shiver of Khouri’s agony.

Khouri had begun to suspect Volyova might be a sadist, and now there could be absolutely no doubt. 

“Please, _please_ , I don’t know,” Khouri whimpered, trying to push past the spreading ache on her breast. “I never talked to anyone directly, please…” 

Volyova drew back and slapped Khouri hard across the face. Khouri cried out and tried to flinch away, succeeding only in hitting her head painfully against the wall behind her.

“Do you really expect me to believe that? It’s rather too convenient for you to know so little about them, considering how much _they_ would have to know to help you infiltrate my ship.” Volyova grabbed the remains of Khouri’s shirt in her free hand and pulled hard, ripping off enough pieces to expose her torso entirely. A visible thrill went through her at the sight, the bloody trail from where she had licked her leading up Khouri’s chest like a treasure map to the already purpling outline of Volyova’s teeth around her nipple.

“Why _would_ they tell me anything about themselves?” Khouri asked, frantically searching for something she could say, some way she could explain herself. “In case you figured out who I was, they wouldn’t want to open themselves up to that risk.” She was speaking less coherently now, scrambling to put her sentences together quickly, no time to organize her thoughts before speaking. “That’s… that’s why they needed to get someone who obviously wasn’t an Ultra to do their dirty work… They probably thought you would never suspect someone from Sky’s Edge.”

“Don’t try to dodge the question, _shlyukha,_ ” Volyova said. She paused with the knife hovering over Khouri’s waistband just above the curve of her pelvis and pulled at the waistband of Khouri’s pants until there was a gap between the leather and Khouri’s skin—not the easiest feat with how tightly they were fitted to her body. She slid the blade beneath it, starting to cut through the leather. This was a task that required significantly more force than cutting her shirt, and as the knife sheared through it bit into Khouri’s skin beneath.

Khouri flinched with another soft cry. “Triumvir, I promise I’m n-not trying to dodge the question,” she defended, her voice shakier now. “I really don’t know… khh…” The cuts became deeper as Volyova cut more aggressively, and now the blood welled up from them immediately, beginning to run down her leg as Volyova sliced the leather apart. Khouri held back tears, shuddering with pain and fear. The chilly air hit her skin as Volyova systematically disassembled her clothes, raising goosebumps, accentuating the prickling sting of the cuts.

Khouri thought of the increasingly insistent warnings about Volyova the Mademoiselle had attempted to impress upon her, and how she had categorically dismissed them all. < _I suppose here’s where you’d say, ‘I told you so,’ isn’t it…_ > she reached out to the Mademoiselle, knowing there would be no answer.

“You’re trying to tell me you didn’t even know what their ship was called?” Volyova pressed.

“Khh… I’m sure they didn’t _trust_ me enough to let me know anything about who they were…” Volyova reached the hem and tore through with a last decisive cut. The destroyed halves hung loosely on Khouri’s leg, jagged cut edges smeared with traces of her blood. “They… obviously knew you were so clever t-that there was a good chance you’d work it out.” 

Volyova paused. “Flattering me, in the hopes I will show some clemency? I am not so easily placated, Khouri,” she said softly. And then there it was… the predatory smile Khouri had come to crave almost as much as she feared, the same look Volyova had given her in the Spider-Room the first time she had touched her. While Khouri might not have called Volyova’s sexual appetite _voracious_ , it was certainly true that the Triumvir seemed to have a taste for it—or perhaps just for _Khouri_ —that was never truly sated. Why _wouldn’t_ it be exactly the same now—why would Volyova punish her in any way but this? 

_Fuck, I’ve really done it now, haven’t I? I’ll… I’ll just have to take whatever she dishes out. I can do this, I can… I’ve had worse…_

“I promise, I really don’t know,” Khouri murmured, trying to focus through the pain. “I never saw anyone, ngh… they didn’t tell me anything…” 

Volyova had hooked the knife into the waistband on the other side and began cutting in the same manner as she had the first, tearing through with a brutal precision. Khouri struggled to keep quiet, to suppress her whimpers, as every cut through the pants produced a corresponding cut on her leg, some very light cuts that scarcely pierced the skin, some deeper cuts where she could feel the thin blade parting the flesh, feel her blood immediately rising to the surface and running down her thigh. Volyova splayed her hand in the center of Khouri’s chest and caressed her body slowly, smearing the blood from slowly oozing cuts over Khouri’s skin and her own pale hand. Her hand trailed down, moving in the wake of the knife as she cut down Khouri’s leg, sliding beneath the leather as she sliced it apart. Khouri saw Volyova give a pleasured shiver, a soft sound escaping her that was close to a moan. 

_God, she really_ _ **is**_ _getting off on this…_ Khouri thought, still not quite able to grasp—or perhaps she simply didn’t want to accept—this aspect of the woman she had grown close to. She had been with the Triumvir enough times now to recognize every detail of the woman’s desire. 

It was in that instant that something occurred to her, a thought piercing through the rest, like a bullet fired through mist, dispersing it for a single moment. _Wait… wait, maybe I’ve got a chance! Maybe… maybe if I can get her to think about that more than asking me questions, then I have a real chance at getting out of this in one piece… !_

“I’ll grant you this much, Khouri… you’ve got a strong will,” Volyova said as she finished destroying Khouri’s pants. She sounded pleased about this, and Khouri didn’t doubt that she was; the Triumvir always took a perverse enjoyment in Khouri’s initial resistance, even though she did ultimately expect Khouri to submit. “However, you surely understand that my will is stronger, and my determination greater than your capacity for resistance.” 

She grasped the now separated pieces of the ruined garment and pulled them apart, tossing the scraps to the floor with the remains of Khouri’s shirt. It took a bit more force to get the pieces all the way off with Khouri pressed against the wall and Khouri winced at the pressure on her fresh cuts. 

“The rest of the crew are not awake yet,” Volyova continued. “I assure you I have the time I need…” Volyova licked her lips, her voice low and dark. “You _are_ going to give in to me eventually.”

 _Fuck, she’s right,_ Khouri thought, despairingly. _I’ve given in to everything else she’s wanted me to do the whole time I’ve been on this damn ship. Why would this be different?_ She hated to admit it, but over the preceding months, this was exactly how things had always played out between them; Khouri might protest or try to argue, but in the end she always ended up doing exactly what Volyova wanted of her, one way or another. It was the dance in which the two of them were always engaged, and Khouri had learned to follow her prescribed steps flawlessly, no matter what she might’ve thought she wanted.

Volyova trailed the knife down the center of Khouri’s belly, following the path she had already cut during the removal of her shirt, the blade barely ghosting over the skin. Khouri held her breath, trying to hold still enough that the knife would not worsen the existing cut. It trailed lower until Volyova neatly hooked her underwear with the tip of the knife. Khouri trembled at the blade’s proximity to such a vulnerable location, biting her lip.

Volyova sharply tugged the knife upwards. There was a quiet tearing sound, and the thin fabric shredded and ripped.

Khouri’s mind raced. Her idea held merit, she was certain, but it was a dangerous gamble. Khouri could hardly forget that when Volyova touched her, _she_ always inevitably lost her ability to focus or think just as much as, and frequently _more_ than, Volyova did. _I might slip and reveal everything_ _ **anyway**_ … 

There was, of course, another possibility, inescapable to Khouri’s mind, however unwelcome. _If she gets… really carried away… will she lose herself in it and kill me by accident?_ Khouri at least had the sense that the Triumvir valued her, in some twisted fashion, like a pet, or valuable object. _She’s… protected me, so far. Surely she wouldn’t…_

It took Volyova only a moment to pull the tiny, ruined piece of cloth free, tossing it to the floor with the rest of the scraps that remained of Khouri’s clothes. 

_I’ve got no choice,_ Khouri thought. _I’ll have to go for it._

“That’s better,” Volyova said softly, raking her eyes over Khouri in a manner that made her feel as if she were an insect about to be skewered for an entomologist’s study. “Now then… whatever should I do with you now?” She was speaking less to Khouri than to herself; the Ultra woman had a habit of talking to herself, which Khouri suspected was an inevitable consequence of how long she spent in isolation.

Khouri said nothing for a few seconds, looking at Volyova with wide, frightened eyes, steeling herself. _Fuck. If she’s saying things like that, I have to try it. Here goes everything…_

“Triumvir, I… I know you want to… punish me… for lying to you…” Khouri said, hesitantly, terrified by her own words, palpably aware of the risk in her actions, of what she was bringing upon herself by saying such things. “You want to… to mark me up… don’t you?” She was shaking, as Volyova brought the knife just beneath one of her breasts, resting the blade flush against her skin. It was so cold, and the sharp edge was already so sticky with her blood, her breast already aching from where Volyova had bitten her. _No turning back now,_ Khouri thought. _Nothing to do but leap off that cliff._

“Yes…” Volyova said, trailing off. She sounded curious, intrigued, her attention utterly arrested at the change in Khouri’s tone. That was, Khouri reckoned, a positive sign.

“D-do it… my body belongs to you…” Khouri shivered with fear, taking a deep, shaky breath. “You know it, don’t you…? It… it isn’t like I’ll be able to do anything but obey you now… so…” The words she was saying tasted strange and terrifying. That they came so easily made it even worse. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so would make what Volyova was about to do hurt any less.

Volyova’s eyes widened slightly, a predatory smile spreading across her face.

“Very good,” Volyova purred, licking her lips and pressed the knife in, cutting upwards along the curve of Khouri’s breast in a sweeping, steady arc—Khouri held back a scream, a half-swallowed cry escaping her anyway, tears springing to her eyes, struggling involuntarily to pull away, to press herself harder against the wall she was shackled to. Khouri had actually received an injury to the chest once in her soldiering days, but that had been nothing at _all_ like this. 

“Let it out… don’t hold back, I want to _hear_ you,” Volyova said, reaching up and pressing a hand to the center of Khouri’s chest between her breasts, firmly holding her still to keep her from moving while she finished the cut, letting out a soft, breathy laugh. 

“Ah—! H-hn—it hurts, Triumvir…” Khouri whimpered, knowing exactly what Volyova would want to hear. In a way, this was easier. Letting out her more immediate, visceral thoughts required less focus than carefully considered answers, even if saying such things to Volyova carried an equally dangerous risk in its own right. 

“Mmm, I know it does…” Volyova repositioned the knife on the opposite side, the tip pressing in below Khouri’s other breast. Khouri made a small sound like the beginning of a sob as Volyova began to make a symmetrical cut on the other side. Hot blood trickled slowly down the blade of the knife, dripping onto Volyova’s already bloody hand. She smiled with a rush of sadistic pleasure, a tiny shiver through her thin body that Khouri noticed even through the fog of pain.

“Please…” Khouri whimpered. 

“You _do_ deserve this, you know,” Volyova purred, turning the knife to cut down from the top of Khouri’s breast now, following the curve on its other side. “You brought this upon yourself…” When she finished, the cuts formed a pleasingly symmetrical scarlet outline of Khouri’s breast, like a thin crimson teardrop. 

“Khh—y-yes, Triumvir… I-I’m sorry…” Khouri murmured, her voice ragged. Tears Khouri could no longer hold back—was no longer _trying_ to hold back—spilled from the corners of her eyes, trickling down her cheeks, her chest shaking. Volyova grabbed one of her breasts, squeezing it, and Khouri yelped, trying fruitlessly to squirm away. _I know it’s what she likes… not that I can help it anyway…_

“Mmm, what a nice sound…” Volyova said thoughtfully, her voice low, sultry. “I’m sure you’ll show me just how sorry you are, won’t you?” As she squeezed and kneaded Khouri’s breast in her hand, smearing the blood over it, palming it and occasionally rolling the nipple between her fingers, she repeated the same type of cut on the other breast, until that one, too, was outlined in a thin teardrop of red. Khouri shivered, whimpering and crying quietly as tears trickled slowly down her face, and Volyova leaned in and trapped Khouri’s nipple—the one she had not already bitten—between her teeth, flicking her tongue across it and tasting the smear of blood. 

“Y-yes—ah—!—Triumvir, h-hurt me more… I know I deserve it, whatever pleases you…” Khouri gasped, tensing her entire body in an attempt to control her fearful trembling.

Volyova bit down on her nipple just as hard as she had on the other, a sharp pain followed immediately by an ache that spread across her chest—and then Volyova wrapped her lips around it and sucked, moving her tongue over the abused flesh, and Khouri’s pained whimpers were broken by a moan that felt like it had been forced out of her. She let it happen.

“A-ahh—nhh— _fuck_ —ah-ah— _Ilia—_ ” With her nipples sensitized by the rough treatment, the gentler touch sent little pleasurable shivers through Khouri as Volyova reached up and began rolling her other nipple between her fingers. She arched toward the touch without thinking, feeling that pulse of heat between her legs, that terrible _wanting._

Volyova pulled back with a little shiver of her own, mouth ever so slightly open as she breathed shallowly with excitement, drinking in the sight of Khouri’s body covered in so many cuts, the way her chest heaved with labored breaths, the thin trails of tears on her face. Already Khouri’s nipple was outlined in a newly forming bruise to match the first. 

“You belong to me, Khouri…” Volyova said softly. “Every part of you…” She drew closer again, traced her tongue over the decorative cuts she had made, moaning softly at the way Khouri shook and trembled, her whimpers of pain, the metallic taste of her blood.

“Yes,” Khouri said. “I’m s-sorry for hiding anything from you, Triumvir… please… punish me… I deserve it...” It was shocking, how easily the words came now, how easy it was to say such things even knowing what the consequences would be… how _natural_ it felt. _What’s happened to me…_

“There you go… good girl…” 

Volyova ran one hand up the inside of Khouri’s thigh, sticky with Khouri’s blood. Khouri let out a soft sound, tensing, feeling another prickling of renewed heat at Volyova’s touch, that _anticipation_ Volyova had become so adept at drawing from her. 

_Is it working?_ Khouri thought, desperately. _It… seems like it’s working…_

Volyova smiled as she traced the knife slowly down Khouri’s inner thigh, at first only dragging it over the skin and then cutting in a perfect line following the natural curve, licking her lips as she watched the blood slowly trickling down. The cut was shallow, just enough to draw blood, but Khouri felt every inch as the knife drew across her skin. Khouri trembled as Volyova caressed her other thigh, her hand reaching higher—Khouri tensed, another rush of heat in the pit of her stomach as Volyova leaned down and traced her tongue along the cut she had just made, moving up her thigh, higher, higher, until she could feel the heat of her breath against her slit, so very close. 

Khouri couldn’t stop herself. “Ilia…” she breathed, the woman’s name forming a plea. 

Volyova hummed thoughtfully as she licked Khouri very slowly, just letting her tongue glide over Khouri’s pussy without much purposeful movement, and it was then that she pressed the knife into Khouri’s other thigh, dragging it purposefully as she made a careful cut identical to the first in a slow path leading upward. 

“A-ah—nhh— _kh!_ ” Khouri couldn’t keep from moaning at the faint touch of Volyova’s tongue on her, only for her moan to splinter into a cry of pain as Volyova laid down another cut. Volyova moved back down, licking up the path of the cut as she completed it, slowly, shivering with pleasure as she tasted more of Khouri’s blood. Khouri whimpered, almost as much at the loss of Volyova’s mouth as the pain of the fresh wound. As Volyova finished the cut, lapping up the blood that oozed from it, she moved to Khouri’s slit again, letting Khouri feel the warmth of her breath.

 _I don’t understand,_ Khouri thought, _I don’t fucking understand how it can still feel good, everything else hurts, it’s not right, but…_

“Triumvir… please…” Khouri pleaded. “Don’t stop…” 

“That’s it… good girl,” Volyova purred, and leaned in, placing a lick to Khouri’s pussy again, and again, marginally more directly, still just as lightly, slowly running her tongue the full length of her slit. 

“A-ahh-nh, t-thank you—” 

As she licked her she brought the knife up and began to lay down a new cut around the outside of Khouri’s thigh—she felt Khouri shivering against her, tasted the slowly building wetness on her tongue, even though Khouri’s whimpers were as much of pain as pleasure. Volyova moaned softly at the mingled taste of Khouri’s blood and juices, an intoxicating melange of sharply metallic and faintly bitter, uniquely _Khouri_. Volyova reached between her own legs and pressed her hand against her pussy through her clothes, moaning softly against Khouri as she licked her. 

_She’s touching herself…_ Khouri noticed, faintly. _it must be working, surely…_

Volyova made a matching cut on Khouri’s other thigh as she began to lick her faster, more purposefully, shifting down so that her tongue swept slightly inside Khouri, licking her open, tasting her.

“Ah—ah, haah—Triumvir, t-thank you—” Khouri gasped, even as the sharp sting of the cuts lanced through her, Volyova’s tongue continued to send shivers of pleasure through her in kind, she could feel herself becoming wetter and wetter, could _smell_ her own scent even over the faint smell of her own blood. “Nh—more, more, _please,_ show me—ah—who I belong to…”

In spite of the pain of the cuts, this much, at least, was more familiar territory. 

Volyova hummed against her, still licking her with steady rhythm, reaching around with the knife to cut along the line of Khouri’s ass. Khouri cried out as the knife parted the skin, but the proliferation of cuts all over her body was beginning to suffuse her with a hazy, fuzzy adrenaline-fueled mind fog. Volyova kept licking her as she made the corresponding cut on the other side, and Khouri could feel the pleasure building, slowly but surely, in spite of everything, her pussy throbbing hotly against Volyova’s tongue.

“A-ah—please, _please_ —” she moaned, arching her back in a vain attempt to get closer. “Ilia—it feels s-so _good_ —” Volyova laughed softly, something Khouri felt more than heard as the faint vibration travelled through her body. 

As she completed the cut, Volyova pulled back to admire her work again. Khouri made a faint whimper at the loss, achingly hot, pulsing with need. The cuts on Khouri’s legs were neatly symmetrical, elegantly smooth scarlet lines that served to highlight Khouri’s lean muscle beautifully, the slowly oozing blood smeared over the skin where Volyova had licked her fresh cuts, the diluted smear of blood over Khouri’s pussy that Volyova had transferred there with her tongue. 

Volyova spoke a quick couple of commands to her bracelet. Khouri let out a startled yelp as she briefly sagged down, held up momentarily only by her arms and neck as the restraints slithered away from her ankles, coughing at the sudden pressure on her neck—then the restraints moved up her legs, wrapping around her knees instead. Her legs were pulled up, knees level almost with her elbows, and then apart, wider and wider until she winced at the pressure on her hips, and she shivered, feeling even more exposed and vulnerable. Khouri shut her eyes, turning her head away as much as she could manage. _Fuck, I’ve never been forced into such a… demeaning position before…_

“How does that feel?” Volyova purred. “A more suitable position, wouldn’t you say…” She drew her fingers along one of the cuts that traced the outline of Khouri’s inner thigh, smiling at the way Khouri tried to flinch reflexively away from the touch. “Look at me, Khouri.”

Khouri shook her head, the motion slightly restricted by the collar. “Please, it’s…” she began, without thinking. 

“I said, _look at me_ ,” Volyova said, more firmly, and Khouri jolted as she felt the tip of the knife beneath her chin. Volyova tilted the blade, forcing Khouri’s head up, but Khouri still kept her eyes squeezed tightly closed, her exposed position making her feel too small, too helpless, too weak. 

“Please, Triumvir,” Khouri repeated, even more softly, voice hardly audible. 

“I won’t ask again,” Volyova said, just as softly, pressing the blade into Khouri’s skin. A warm trickle of blood dripped slowly down her neck, over the collar, dribbling down her chest. Khouri relented, opening her eyes, almost gasping then at the intensity of Volyova’s cinereous gaze.

“Good girl,” Volyova said softly. She moved her free hand down to Khouri’s pussy, already so warm and slick from the attention of her tongue. She made a soft sound of satisfaction as she let her fingers slide up and down along her slit, Khouri wet enough now for her fingers to glide easily, luxuriating in Khouri’s sharp intake of breath, the way she shivered at the light touch, her soft moans. Volyova’s blood-streaked hand smeared more blood over Khouri’s aching slit as she touched her, the slick of diluted red seeming to accentuate and highlight every detail. 

“A-ahh, _please_ , hn—ah—” Khouri moaned as Volyova massaged her clit with her fingers, so slippery with her fluids and her own blood, her clit swollen and sensitive. “Nh—Triumvir—”

“That’s better… so obliging… perhaps you’re finally learning, Khouri”—Volyova smiled and moved her hand back down, and Khouri trembled as she felt the tips of her fingers beginning to press in— “that doing as I _command_ is always the better course of action…” 

Khouri made a soft sound, begging, wordlessly, and then Volyova shoved three fingers inside her without warning.

“Ilia— _ahh_ —!” Khouri cried out, even with how wet she was, to go from nothing to three of Volyova’s fingers was a significant stretch, a sharp sting that gave to a dull ache as her body tried to adjust. Volyova laughed softly at Khouri’s startled sound, twisting and moving her fingers inside her, stroking her walls and feeling the answering pulse in Khouri’s flesh, hot and slick and so tight.

“Now then,” Volyova said, as Khouri shivered and moaned, “here is how this is going to work. You’re going to tell me how your _employers_ intended to steal my cache. If I get answers I like, then I’ll keep fucking you like this. I might even let you come, if you especially please me.” She flexed her fingers inside Khouri meaningfully for emphasis, and Khouri moaned. “But if you withhold from me, if I have _any_ inkling of dishonesty…” She slid her fingers out, and dragged the knife lightly down Khouri’s thigh, moving to curve it around her ass, the motion made much easier by Khouri’s new position. “Am I _entirely_ clear?”

“Yes, yes, Triumvir, very clear,” Khouri breathed. _Shit, I guess she hasn’t totally forgotten about questioning me after all… but I can handle this._ She had only to make it through without losing herself so much she slipped and revealed too much. _And that I keep Ilia… wound up enough that she doesn’t ask any more questions I don’t know the “right” answer to._

“So… nnh, all right, this is where, where Sun Stealer comes into it,” Khouri began. Her voice was shaky and breathless. It was difficult to concentrate well enough to rattle off a memorized script in her current position, the adrenaline-spiked mind fog powerfully slowing her thought processes. Still, she pressed on. This, at least, she did have a prepared answer for. “Sun Stealer was a military virus they snuck aboard your ship when you were last in the Yellowstone system… a very smart, adaptive piece of infiltration software.” 

Volyova’s eyebrows rose minutely at this, but her expression was not one of skepticism. Khouri knew this look well. Khouri’s statement had piqued the only driving force in the woman stronger than her sexual appetite: her utterly insatiable curiosity. _Right answer,_ Khouri thought.

“A virus? What _kind_ of virus? How did it work?” Volyova asked, as she turned her hand and again pushed her fingers into Khouri. Khouri shuddered and moaned, feeling her muscles squeezing around Volyova’s hand, the slightly painful stretch only heightening the sensation. She could feel the bones of Volyova’s fingers pressing against her hole as she moved them around, the aching, delicious stretch, the way her body opened up for the woman’s hand so readily.

“A-ah—it was—nh—designed t-to worm its way into enemy installations,” Khouri gasped, struggling to focus on her words as Volyova began to thrust her fingers slowly in and out. “To, wage psychological warfare on the applicants…a-ahh—!” She trailed off her words with a shaky gasp as Volyova picked up the pace, her long fingers stroking deep inside Khouri in steady strokes. The Triumvir knew exactly how to work her, manipulating Khouri’s body as effortlessly as she manipulated her beloved weapons.

“And—ah, _fuck—_ drive them mad via subliminal suggestio—nhhn!” Khouri continued, forcing the words out in between her moans, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt Volyova’s fingers rubbing and pressing and thrusting inside her. _God it’s so hard to get the words out right with her doing this… fuck, it feels so good, I just want to give in, I…_ She forcibly dragged her thoughts back to a place of relative coherence with no small effort, and forced herself to continue. “But, your—aah—own defenses were too good… Sun Stealer was weakened… so the strategy never really worked.” 

Volyova nodded, the movements of her fingers temporarily slowing as she apparently considered Khouri’s explanation. _Really,_ Khouri thought, or perhaps just tried to reassure herself, _she’s listening, but not_ _ **really**_ _listening that carefully, she doesn’t really care about anything but what she’s doing to me, or about to do to me… right?_

“It couldn’t—couldn’t reach anyone, outside, ha-ah—” Khouri trailed off as Volyova flexed and spread her fingers inside her, moaning, “ _Ilia_ , god that feels so good— _fuck_ —” 

“Mmm, look at you, you’re _soaking_ ,” Volyova said, leaning closer to Khouri as she fucked her, feeling the slick wetness dripping out around her fingers, running down her wrist beneath her uniform. Khouri could feel her juices trickling down her ass and beginning to dribble onto the floor, mixing with the droplets of blood already scattered over the dark metal, like flower petals. “You see, it’s so much better when you give in…”

“Y-yes, Triumvir,” Khouri gasped, “yes—ah, _ah_ —” _It’s working! It feels so good… Maybe it’s… fine to let go a little…_ The incoherence of Khouri’s thoughts was escalating dangerously, and she had crossed that threshold where she was too far gone to be aware of exactly how far gone she was. “Please, Ilia, it’s s-so good, use me… _fuck me_ , Ilia…” _At least, like this… I don’t have to think about it, really… it’s… so much easier…_

Khouri’s attention was momentarily arrested with a metallic clatter—she realized Volyova had discarded the knife as she slid her fingers out of Khouri’s pussy and reached down to undo the central fastening on her pants. Volyova let out a soft sound of anticipation as the cold ship air hit her skin. 

Volyova’s scent hit Khouri strongly now, sharp, sweet, metallic all at once, and she opened her eyes again to look at her. Volyova was so wet Khouri could see a thin trickle of her fluids dripping down the inside of her thigh. She laid her fingers—those that had been inside Khouri moments ago—at Khouri’s throat, feeling the pulse hammering beneath the delicate skin. 

Her fingers were hot and slick with Khouri’s fluids, and Khouri made a soft sound, shivering as Volyova’s fingers trailed slowly down her body, first lightly, then with steady pressure, slowly spreading her juices over her chest, her belly, her hips. Volyova moaned almost inaudibly as she touched her, her hand pulled at the cuts, forcing more thick droplets from the wounds and leaving a long, bloody smear down Khouri’s torso. 

“Please… I-I… I can’t stop you…” Khouri murmured. 

Volyova looked over Khouri again, licking her lips in anticipation, nodding, slowly. 

“No, you can’t,” Volyova murmured, slowly, apparently savoring the words, as she pulled her bloody hand away and reached between her own legs, sliding her fingers over her slit, moaning low in her throat. She touched herself slowly, looking over Khouri as she rubbed her clit, then lower, sliding her fingers into her pussy with a shaky moan, thrusting them slowly, spreading Khouri’s juices and blood inside herself.

Khouri watched Volyova touch herself and squirmed in her restraints. “Please, Ilia,” she said softly. “I’m loyal to you now… it doesn’t matter what the plan was before. I can’t do anything to stop you… fuck me…” 

Volyova made a harsh sound, pulling her fingers out of her pussy and grasping Khouri’s chin with her other hand. Khouri looked at her, wide-eyed, saying nothing, and then Volyova shoved her fingers in her mouth, forcing her to taste her and herself. Khouri squeaked, Volyova’s fingers rubbing roughly against the burn on her tongue, sending a fresh cascade of prickling pain through her, but she obeyed without being told, sucking and licking at Volyova’s fingers, shivering at the mingled taste, coppery, bitter, sharp, sweet.

Volyova removed her fingers from Khouri’s mouth and drew back, retrieving another item from the cabinet. This time, it was entirely obvious to Khouri what it was—she had seen it before, or something almost identical to it. Volyova attached the synthetic cock as she had before, not even blinking as its thin tendrils burrowed into her flesh and attached to her muscles and nerves. This time, however, the tube remained translucent white in color, and while it did change shape somewhat as it interfaced with Volyova’s body, the shape it took was a more simplistic phallic facsimile, like a more “normal” strap-on (or at least, what Khouri assumed one would look like.) _A prototype?_

Volyova spoke another command into her bracelet. Khouri felt her restraints suddenly slackening, then withdrawing entirely. The restraints retreated toward the wall seemingly at random, and she slid down and pitched forward, barely catching herself, wincing with pain. She stood, shakily, leaning against the wall for support, and reached up absently to her neck, feeling at it gently, as though she needed to confirm the absence of the collar piece. Her neck felt tender, bruised. It seemed absurd she could notice such a subtle discomfort when most of her body was stinging from the cuts that covered her, the ache between her legs so strong it almost hurt.

“Over there, on your back,” Volyova said, pointing over to the platform.

“Yes, Triumvir.” Khouri nodded and obeyed. Her legs trembled, her heart beating so fast and hard she could feel it everywhere, as though her arousal, fear, everything of her was being pushed through her skin from inside. Khouri laid down on the platform—chilly, but at least mercifully free of ship-slime—looking up at Volyova with her large, dark eyes. 

Volyova grabbed Khouri’s legs, pulling her to the edge of the platform where she stood. She spat into her hand, though it was scarcely necessary with how slick it was already, stroking over her artificial attachment with a little pleased shiver as she raked her eyes over Khouri. The lines and streaks of scarlet, the deep purple bruising on her chest, neck, wrists, against the backdrop of Khouri’s light brown skin, painted a picture Volyova could have stared at for hours. 

“Go on, ask for it. Show me how much you want it,” Volyova ordered.

“Please, Triumvir,” Khouri said. “Ilia… Fuck me…” She considered what to do, then, with trembling hands, reached down between her legs and spread herself open invitingly. She wanted to look away, but forced herself to look up at Volyova, to meet her lunar eyes.

“Good girl.” Volyova gave a predatory smile that showed her teeth, aligning herself, and Khouri sucked in a breath sharply; unlike the more realistic attachment Volyova had used on her before, this one lacked the warmth of skin, its slick, smooth surface just as chill as the rest of the room as it rubbed against her aching slit. The Ultra woman snapped her hips forward, sheathing herself inside Khouri in one quick movement.

Khouri made a strangled noise, hissing through her teeth—even after the stretch of Volyova’s fingers, the artificial cock felt just as large as it looked, and it was firmer, less yielding. The ache of being stretched just a little too quickly shot through her hips and felt like it traveled up her spine. She shuddered as her body tried to adjust, but Volyova gave her no time for that before she started fucking her, rolling her hips back and forth, obviously relishing the unique sensation her attachment afforded her.

“Khh—a-ahh, it’s—really fucking big—” Khouri whimpered. "Nh—"

“Ngh, fuck that’s good,” Volyova moaned, as she began to steady her thrusts into a rhythm, faster now. Though a less sophisticated device than the one she kept in the Spider-Room, the artificial cock still formed a good enough connection to her nerves to provide a pleasing sensation of slick, tight heat surrounding her clit. Volyova grasped Khouri’s legs again and leaned forward until she had put all of her weight on Khouri. Khouri whimpered as Volyova’s nails dug painfully into the long cuts on her legs, trickles of her blood running out hotly around Volyova’s fingers. 

Volyova hummed in obvious satisfaction and fucked her faster, steady throbs of pleasure washing over her with each thrust, amplified by Khouri’s shaky moans, her hisses of pain as her abused skin was shoved hard against the platform. With each thrust Khouri felt Volyova’s fingers pressing painfully on the cuts on her legs, and when she opened her eyes and glanced down, her legs were so streaked with blood now they looked shiny in the low light. She tried to shut out the pain, even as she felt the moans torn irresistibly from her throat.

“Kh—ah, Ilia—please, it—hurts, a-ah…” _It hurts… I’m… I’m scared to tell her to do more… maybe it’s all right, if I… surely she’s absorbed enough in it now…_

As more and more blood was forced out of the cuts on Khouri’s legs Volyova’s grip became faintly slippery—without even slowing down, she released Khouri’s legs and grasped her hips instead, yanking her towards her as she pounded her mercilessly against the hard platform. The slight change in angle forced her deeper and Khouri gave a strangled yelp, momentarily seeing stars as Volyova’s cock hit deep inside her.

Khouri closed her eyes, clinging to the edge of the platform as though her life depended on it. As Volyova fucked her, she would slow intermittently all the way inside, grinding her hips against Khouri’s, her pubic bone pressing slick and hot against her clit, so sensitive it was nearly too much. 

“A-ahh—fuck, khh—”

Volyova was never exactly gentle when she fucked her, but the rough fucking she was giving Khouri now made some other times seem almost gentle by comparison. Whether it was because of residual anger or merely because she was so worked up, Khouri couldn’t be sure.

“There’s one thing… haah, hf, you haven’t really answered…” Volyova said at length, her voice airy, as though something of comparatively little consequence had suddenly occurred to her. “What exactly was _your_ function in all this?”

Khouri marveled that the woman could be so composed to question her further with how hard she was fucking her. Despite her lack of cybernetics, the Ultra woman still seemed so far beyond what Khouri ever thought of as _human._ She tried to focus. _I can answer this too, it’s fine, it’s under control… surely she won’t have any more questions after this…_

“To assess—haah, ah—the state of—of Sun Stealer’s corruption, of your gunnery systems—ah—” Khouri tried to answer, gasping out the words. It was challenging to speak with Volyova fucking the very breath from her lungs. “A-and, ahh, fuck, if possible, to gain control of the ship…”

“The ship?” Volyova began to slow her thrusts, her brow furrowed critically. “There is something troubling about that…” 

The bottom rapidly fell out of Khouri’s stomach. “Wh, what?”

“You never would’ve had any chance of taking over the ship, even if the gunnery had been more… heavily compromised,” Volyova pressed, her voice quiet and deadly. She stopped thrusting completely, her eyes narrowed. “Which your employers ought to have known, if their intelligence was good enough to be aware of the cache-weapons…” 

Khouri felt panic rising up, painful, burning like bile in her throat. _Shit, I didn’t… I don’t have a good explanation for that!_

“So, their information was incomplete…” she ventured weakly.

"That's damned sloppy, then.” Volyova drummed her fingertips thoughtfully against Khouri’s thigh, as though she were no different from the platform on which she lay. 

“They made… they must have made a mistake,” Khouri said. “They overlooked it, or thought they’d, be able to circumvent it, somehow.” She paused, breathing shallowly. Even with the lack of movement it was hard to talk impaled on Volyova’s artificial cock, her muscles throbbing around it. “They were smart, but, you were just too clever for them.”

“But how could they know about the access point, and yet not know that the gunnery was separate from the ship’s main systems?” Volyova continued, insistently. “Something doesn’t add up.” Her tone was soft, but she had that particular sharp, calculating gleam in her eyes, the one she had when she was working through a difficult problem. 

It was the most frightening thing Khouri had ever seen.

_I have to distract her, I have to get her to do something to me instead, but what else?! Oh… oh no… well, I’ve thought of something, but…_

“Care to explain that particular oversight?” Volyova asked, more sharply.

“L-look, that plan’s completely shot now anyway,” Khouri whispered. “It doesn’t matter anymore, right?” She shifted underneath Volyova, letting a moan slip from her lips as she worked her hips, fucking herself onto the artificial cock as best as she could, shivering with the mix of fear and pleasure, hardly believing what she was about to do. _It’s the only way… and I know she’ll like it… god, what has_ _ **happened**_ _to me?_

Volyova’s eyebrows rose noticeably and she made a soft, almost questioning sound.

“So… ah, please…” Khouri moaned. “Just use me… Ilia…” With violently trembling hands she reached for Volyova’s wrists, pulling them up and toward her neck. The Triumvir licked her lips, slowly, almost contemplatively, a sharp intake of breath when Khouri wrapped her hands around her neck.

“Go on, ruin me…” Khouri said softly, as she wrapped both of Volyova’s hands around her neck. She shivered with terror. She could see in Volyova’s face—her eyes wide and more intense than ever, the faintest flush on her starkly pale skin—that she was drinking in that fear, and it made it all the worse. “Break me, it’s what I’m for… it’s what you made me for… that’s all I am now. Your possession…” _No, no, I don’t want her to, but I don’t have a fucking choice! Surely she won’t get… so carried away she kills me anyway… right? Just… it’s just some bruises. I can take it… it’ll be fine. Ilia wouldn’t… she wouldn’t…_

Many long seconds passed. Khouri watched hidden emotions pass over Volyova’s face, as though she were engaged in a momentary inner struggle. She felt Volyova’s fingers flex slowly around her neck, like the legs of a spider.

_Please let it have worked… please… oh god, I can’t believe what I’m praying for…_

Something, perhaps a break in Volyova’s willpower or a conscious choice, resolved behind Volyova’s ashen eyes. She growled low in her throat and leaned down until her body was almost pressed against Kouri’s, her hands squeezing hard around Khouri’s throat. Khouri gasped just as Volyova tightened her grip and resumed thrusting into her, punishingly hard, shoving her body back along the platform with each snap of her hips. Volyova’s moans were harsh, tinged with something like fury, but they were moans all the same.

Khouri shuddered, trembling all over as each hard thrust forced a ragged sound from her mouth, Volyova’s grasp hard and frighteningly unbreakable, she let out a choked noise—

Volyova was getting close, Khouri could tell, her thrusts more irregular and her breathing faster and faster, and terribly, impossibly, she could feel her _own_ climax nearing even with her lungs burning, her chest aching in warning.

Volyova tightened her grasp around her throat further, painfully, and Khouri panicked, frantically pulling at Volyova’s arms in a futile bid to free herself, immediate thoughts of a crushed windpipe racing through her mind. _No, no, she wouldn’t—Ilia, Ilia wouldn’t—please, don’t kill me—!_

She felt her vision beginning to blur and darken, and—

—balanced at the brink of unconsciousness, she shuddered as her orgasm was seemingly wrenched from her body. It ripped through her like an electric shock to her oxygen-starved brain, every muscle in her body tensing and releasing in waves—she tried to scream but there was no breath left in her lungs and the only sound that escaped her was a strangled squeak.

“Ngh, _yes—_ ” Volyova thrust even harder into her and Khouri felt tears leaking from the corners of her eyes, her head pounding and her chest burning for want of air, her pussy rhythmically clenching down around the artificial cock on which she was still impaled—

“A-ah, fuck— _ah—!_ ” Volyova shuddered over her, thrust hard into her and ground her hips against Khouri’s, erratically twitching as she came, her brow tightly knitted and eyes closed as though even _she_ were overwhelmed, gasping as she rode it out. Khouri hoped, for one moment, she might release her, and then—

—the darkness swallowed her vision, and she lost consciousness.

~ * ~ * ~

Khouri awoke in the medical suite.

_What happened…? Where was I…_

The events of the last couple of hours—at least, she was pretty sure it had only been that long—returned suddenly, like a firehose. The dark room with the restraint device, everything Volyova had done to her, the questioning… 

_Ilia didn’t kill me, but it felt like I came close… How long have I been out…?_

She glanced down at her body cautiously, feeling at her neck and torso. She was no longer wearing her uniform, and had instead been placed in a hospital slip, but she could tell that the myriad cuts Volyova had inflicted on her were already healed, without so much as a trace of residual pain to show for it. There was something that seemed indecent about that; injuries, Khouri felt, ought to hurt at least a little when they were so recent. She looked around. She was alone, but saw, on a small table, a neatly folded and undamaged uniform.

 _Ilia… brought me here. She must have. After everything she did… she took_ _ **care**_ _of me? I don’t understand…_

Khouri rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand as though doing so would also disperse the confusing emotions. She could smell the acrid sharpness of Volyova’s cigarettes, still lingering around her.


End file.
